The Serpent Prince (Princes #3)(9)

Eustace cleared his throat. “You visited Mistress Hardy recently, I understand?”

“Yes.” Lucy turned to him politely. “I brought her some calf’s foot jelly.”

“And how did you find her? Has her ankle healed from the tumble she took?”

“She still had it up, but she was feisty enough to complain that the jelly was not as tasty as hers.”

“Ah, good. She must be getting better if she can complain.”

“That’s what I thought myself.”

Eustace smiled at her, coffee-brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re a wonderful help to me, keeping track of the villagers.”

Lucy nodded and tilted her face into the wind. Eustace frequently made similar comments. In the past they’d been comforting, if dull. Today, though, she found his complacency slightly irritating.

But Eustace was still talking. “I wish some of the other ladies of the village would be so charitable.”

“Who do you mean?”

A wash of red stained his cheekbones. “Your friend Miss McCullough, for one. She spends most of her time gossiping, I think.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows. “Patricia does like a good gossip, but she’s really quite kind underneath.”

He looked skeptical. “I will accept your word on the matter.”

A herd of cows crowded the road, milling stupidly. Eustace slowed the trap and waited while the cowherd followed his charges off the thoroughfare and into a field.

He shook the reins to start the horse again and waved to the man as they passed. “I’ve heard you had an adventure the other day.”

Lucy was unsurprised. Probably the whole town had news of her find within minutes of Hedge summoning Doctor Fremont. “Indeed. We discovered the man right over there.” She pointed and felt a shudder run up her spine as she saw the spot where she’d found the viscount so close to death.

Eustace dutifully looked at the ditch. “You should be more careful in the future. The fellow might’ve been up to no good.”

“He was unconscious,” Lucy said mildly.

“Still. It’s best not to wander about by yourself.” He smiled at her. “Wouldn’t do to lose you.”

Did Eustace think her a complete wigeon? She tried not to let annoyance show. “I was with Mr. Hedge.”

“Of course. Of course. But Hedge is a small man and getting on in years.”

Lucy looked at him.

“Right. Just to keep in mind for the future.” He cleared his throat again. “Do you have any idea who the fellow you found is?”

“He woke yesterday,” Lucy said carefully. “He says his name is Simon Iddesleigh. He’s a viscount.”

Eustace twitched the reins. The horse, an aging gray, shook its head. “A viscount? Really? I suppose he’s a gouty old boy.”

She remembered the quick eyes and quicker tongue. And the expanse of bare chest she’d seen when the coverlet had slipped. The viscount’s skin had been smooth and taut, long muscles running underneath. The dark brown of his nipples had contrasted quite explicitly with the pale surrounding skin. Really, she shouldn’t have noticed such a thing.

Lucy cleared her throat and turned her gaze to the road. “I don’t think he’s much over thirty.”

She felt Eustace shoot a glance at her. “Thirty. Still. A viscount. A bit rich for Maiden Hill blood, don’t you think?”

What a depressing thought! “Perhaps.”

“I wonder what he was doing here anyway.”

They had reached Maiden Hill proper now, and Lucy nodded to two elderly ladies haggling with the baker. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

Both ladies smiled and waved at them. As they drove past, the gray heads bent together.

“Hmm. Well, here we are.” Eustace pulled the trap alongside the little Norman church and jumped down. He crossed around and carefully helped her descend. “Now, then. The sexton said the leak was in the nave. . . .” He strode to the back of the church, commenting on its general shape and the needed repairs.

Lucy had heard all of this before. In the three years they’d been courting, Eustace had often brought her by the church, perhaps because that was where he felt most in command. She listened with half an ear and strolled behind him. She couldn’t imagine the sardonic viscount going on and on about a roof, especially a church roof. In fact, she winced to think what he would say about the matter—something sharp, no doubt. Not that the viscount’s probable reaction made church roofs unimportant. Someone had to look out for the details that kept life running, and in a small village, the matter of a church roof leaking was rather large.

The viscount most likely spent his days—and nights—in the company of ladies like himself. Frivolous and witty, their only care the trimming on their gown and the style of their hair. Such people had very little use in her world. Still . . . the viscount’s banter was amusing. She’d suddenly felt more awake, more alive when he’d started bamming her, as if her mind had caught a spark and was lit.

“Let’s go look inside. I want to make sure the leak hasn’t worsened the mold on the walls.” Eustace turned and entered the church, then popped his head back out. “That is, if you don’t mind?”

“No, of course not,” Lucy said.